


Just A Day

by Laeviss



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Fluff, Love is in the Air, M/M, OCs - Freeform, So much self indulgent fluff, Wyrmrest Accord OCs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 11:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13680426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: Many couples find their own way to celebrate Love is in the Air. Written for the love of my life about our original characters. ♥





	Just A Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flarenwrath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flarenwrath/gifts).



> Dedicated to Flarenwrath, my perfect mate and the best partner I could have ever hoped for. I love you, babe!

**Morning**

Len’val stirred as the bed yawned beneath him; the mattress squeaked, and then he felt a wolf trying to nudge his snout between his arm and his partner’s. He let out a sigh. His cheek nuzzled against the orcish chest beneath him, and after a moment, Gron’s fervor seemed to have passed. The warmth of his fur against Len’val’s legs faded together with the heat of Morkkar’s embrace, and a small, sleepy noise escaped him.

As his fingers uncurled against Morkkar’s shoulder, he heard another small sound from the corner. Assuming it came from outside his window— the streets of Dalaran had been noisier than ever with those awful void elves running around, and it was Love is in the Air, after all— the elf dismissed it, and tried to drift back into dreams. Morkkar grunted, the vibrations deep beneath Len’val’s ear, but he merely nodded and let the silky strands of his hair slide down off the orc. 

And just when he thought he could coax his lover back to sleep, there was another squeak and the wolf sat bolt upright. Pawing at the sheets. Nipping and nudging at Morkkar’s leg. The orc shifted and moved to sit up, leaving the sleepy elf all but curled in a ball on his lap. 

But Len’val wouldn’t be sleeping for long. 

“Len’val?” Morkkar nudged his shoulder. The mage blinked, green eyes flickering first to Gron, and then to the Frostwolf orc sat above him. 

“Mm,” he murmured, somewhere between a sigh and a grumble.

“Puppies.” Morkkar pointed, and with that, the pieces came together: the small noises were Hati’s, and Gron’s nudging...but that meant...

Still in a daze, he rolled off of the bed and padded across the room. Morkkar was close behind him; his large hand pressed against Len’val’s arm and they rushed over to help the wolf and the little wet balls of fluff that she furiously licked. Len’val jumped and let out a gleeful cry, but Morkkar tried his best to still him, holding him, as he whispered—

“You should go get a towel.”

“And call Garikk and Lok’threk!” The elf all but squealed, whirling around on his heels and dashing over to the closet. He soon returned, cheeks flushed and mind fully awake, with a stack of towels in his arms.

“Yeah, you can do that,” Morkkar nodded, but the corners of his lips twitched with the fainted hint of a smirk. 

“But you might want to put on some clothes.”

**Brunch**

Uk’zok blinked as he thumbed through the menu, eyes moving over flourished headings gilded in gold that might as well have been drawings of flowers. Just when he had started to learn how to read Orcish, suddenly all he saw was Thalassian, and in scripts with swirls and connected letters he couldn’t make out. Trust elves to make breakfast so complicated! He pursed his lips, and shot Fala a nervous look.

But the elf seemed not to notice the stares being cast in their direction, or Uk’zok’s hand as he accidentally knocked against the stem of his glass. It splattered, but Fala dismissed it, stretching out an elegant hand to point to the top of the page.

“This is the drink list, darling,” and then he lowered his voice. “They still serve bacon and hawkstrider eggs. Or, if you would prefer, I’m sure they’d bring us some ham.”

“Eggs are fine.” He flashed the blood elf a grin, the twinkle in his eye betraying a joke he knew Fala wouldn’t acknowledge in public. Eggs filling Fala’s mailbox. Eggs thrown at Fala last Noblegarden.

Learning what Fala’s cousin had done with eggs, and how utterly flustered he had gotten when Uk’zok suggested they do the same...

“Oh,” the elf’s cheeks went white, then red, and he busied himself with the menu. “And would you like champagne?”

“Uh-huh.” Uk’zok just kept on grinning, and then, almost on cue—

“Fala! Uk’zok! What a surprise!” Yvayn all but bounced from the door to the side of their table, waving, with his husband Gradul in tow. His fingers laced between the warlock’s, dwarfed between green digits and sharp purple nails. Fala shot Gradul a look, but had nothing but smiles for his cousin. His blush blossomed and spread over his cheeks, but luckily Yvayn didn’t seem to notice.

“Happy Love is in the Air!” And then, almost in the same breath, “Len’val and Morkkar have puppies!”

Uk’zok dropped his menu and skidded his chair to Fala’s side of the table. The waiter coughed from the other side of the restaurant, but he was more concerned about seeing the dogs than pleasing some uptight elf. Leaning over Yvayn’s magical communication device, he laughed and nudged his thigh against Fala’s knee. Their hands met under the table, and Fala’s hand gave him a squeeze.

**Afternoon**

It was rare to see snow in Orgrimmar, especially during the day. But a cold wind had blown down from Hyjal, and by noon, white flakes started dancing and drifting and clinging to skin unaccustomed to cold. From his post in the Valley of Honor, Makk’rosh watched would-be celebrants scampering inside for cover.

An elderly orc bravely fought through the wind to bring a rose home to his mate, and two trolls scowled at the sky from the door of the Wyvern’s Tail, pressed together for warmth or pleasure or some combination thereof. At least Nufa seemed pleased by the business. The tavern rarely saw this much action on a mid-week afternoon. 

But each distraction lasted only a moment before he remembered how much the wind stung his bare chest. Warrior or not, there were some things neither size nor strength could fight off, and today, it seemed, a few flakes from the mountains would be his demise. He set his jaw into a line. Straightening and slumping, straightening and slumping, hoping he’d find a pose that would keep his bare body warm. The tavern lights tempted, but he had to stay at his post. Just a few more hours, and then he’d be home with Anind by their fire, and Gal’grosh, inside, and warm—

But Anind, it seemed, had other plans.

The sun had just started its descent— though it was hard to tell, with a ceiling of clouds overhead— when Anind passed through the gate with a bundle of fur in his arms. The elf’s ears were exposed; his hands clutched the coat, white and pink from the cold, and mostly uncovered. Makk’rosh felt his chest clench seeing the elf out walking in this weather, but Anind persisted, and if he was bothered, he didn’t let the pain show. 

He had chosen a strong mate, Makk’rosh mused, or, at the very least, a determined one. The thought brought a smile to his lips.

“You didn’t have to,” Makk’rosh explained, as soon as his mate was in earshot. 

But Anind just shook his head, and strained on his toes to drape the coat over his shoulders. Their shared coat: a patchwork of rabbit and zhevra and wolf scraps, stitched together into something just large enough to cover Makk’rosh’s chest. He remembered when Anind first made it, when he got his post at the guardhouse, and how his eyes had shown then just as they did now when he stepped back and regarded his handiwork. 

Staring into those eyes for a moment, Makk’rosh leaned down, and claimed Anind’s lips in a kiss. Anind murmured, and his chilly hands burrowed under the furs. They held each other, and the ice on his cheek melted against the sin’dorei’s dark hair. 

He needed to get back to work, but on Love is in the Air with snow falling down on Orgrimmar and his mate burrowed against his chest, even honor and duty of post couldn’t make him end that embrace.

**Evening**

Alerion was too tired to deal with this shit, and he wanted it to show. Narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms, he watched a cluster of human girls giggling and reading a love letter some worgen had mailed to their friend. The sound of their squeals was too much for the elf; he slammed down his empty plate and handed the barmaid a handful of gold.

All but pushing his way to the door, he left the Blue Recluse behind, and moved, instead, to the archway beside the canal. 

As always, Bravord returned from evening vespers with a smile shining on his lips. Though, Alerion supposed, it could have been the light shimmering between his eyes that made his face glow in the moonlight. Either way, the draenei seemed to be pleased, and even the grumpy look on Alerion’s face didn’t deter him. He just nodded and gestured out to the canal: to a pair of kaldorei women bundled together on a boat, and to the candles bobbing and lighting their path.

“The people of Stormwind are celebrating tonight?” He always spoke with such earnest. Alerion straightened, and didn’t know what to say.

“It is some kind of feast, is it not?” Bravord tried again. Finally, Alerion shook his head, sending his tentacles swaying across his back.

“It’s just something stupid the humans do.”

“I ran into Farseer Umbrua, and she said she’d be—”

“It’s nothing. Forget it, Bravord. Let’s go.”

He didn’t know why it got under his skin; it was just a stupid holiday for stupid humans and stupid worgen sending love letters, and stupid elves back in Silvermoon gossiping about what had become of the outcasts and what they were doing in Stormwind and how they may or may not be falling in love with some stupid paladin just like Alleria had done and now they were walking together over rose petals back to their shared hotel room, where they may or may not be sharing a bed, and then—

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the perfume until it hit him square in the face. He gasped, and sputtered, and before he could stop him Bravord had pulled him flush to his side. 

“Are you all right, little one?” The draenei looked down, his gold eyes flashing. Alerion watched as dismay faded to relief, then relief turned to laughter, and for how much he hated the holiday and the horrible smell lingering in his nose, he couldn’t stay angry. He pursed his lips, but didn’t snap. His tentacles recoiled at the draenei’s embrace, but his body moved closer, a little too close, and, knowing he no longer had the upper hand, he just shrugged, and kept watching.

Watching Bravord look over his shoulder, his grin softening as he realized “It’s a love holiday.”

Alerion blushed— no, didn’t blush! His cheeks were just hot!— and took a step closer. “Let’s just go to our room, all right?”

“Whatever you say, little one,” the draenei teased. Swatting his hand at the paper garland adorning the doorway, Alerion tried and failed to pretend he hadn’t quite heard.

**Night**

Kork’thal stared into his beer, sloshing it first clockwise, then counter-clockwise, knowing it couldn’t intoxicate him but needing the distraction nonetheless. Beside him, his fellow death knight Durramak had lost his inhibitions, and had allowed his human lover up into his lap. Normally Kork’thal would have reminded him to be on his guard against onlookers, but tonight, maybe their last night drinking in public in peace, he decided to hold his tongue.

He just sipped the ale that had no effect on him, and kept watching, listening. Listening to Anfortas murmur in Durramak’s ear. Feeling the red-haired illidari on his left shooting daggers every time he turned to glance around. I’m not looking at your date, he wanted to insist, but he failed to find his voice.

I’m not looking at yours, he wanted to say. I’m looking for mine.

It was a kind of dull ache, like from another life. Distant, but still haunting, and he didn’t like it. He just wanted to worgen to come and tell him what he intended. Knowing was better than wondering, and wondering was all he had done for days. He downed the mug and asked for another. The bartender raised his brow, but took it and filled it back to the brim. His shoulders squared as he felt Durra’s arm press against him, and he tensed when Anfortas brushed lightly against his ear.

“You should come with us,” the human offered. His words trembled and tickled against his skin. “Durra and I talked. I want you both. I don’t care—”

Kork’thal opened his mouth to answer, but Anfortas was ready to meet him, to contend, in barely a whisper “Lanndrick won’t come. Don’t—”

“He’ll come.” Kork’thal insisted in spite of his instinct. Anfortas’ lips fell to a frown, and Durramak added, in Orcish, “If you change your mind, we’ll leave the door unlocked.”

Kork’thal’s nod was curt, but firm. His friends left, and all he had now for company were the two illidari beside him. But he lingered, watching the clock.

It was almost midnight when a soldier appeared in the doorway: human, by all intents and purposes, with dark skin and grey eyes that searched for him in the dark. Kork’thal rose from his barstool, and Lanndrick approached, slow and aware, but not shying from the cool Orcish hand that Kork’thal pressed against the side of his cheek. 

“Lanndrick.”

The worgen embraced him, sniffing against the crook of his neck, and the death knight held him close. The dull ache in his chest started to tighten, but with Lanndrick warm in his arms, it was hard to pay heed to anything else. They held each other for a moment; Lanndrick looked up at him, as he had so often done, and though his gaze was conflicted, he mumbled something in Common Kork’thal couldn’t understand, then nodded his head towards the stairs.

It seemed that has mind was made up, and Kork’thal flashed a rare smile to show the man how grateful he was he’d arrived.

They walked up the steps side-by-side, and nudged open the door. Anfortas lay in a sweaty heap, and Durramak sat by his side, stroking his hair, barely acknowledging Lanndrick and Kork’thal as they passed to the other bed. And if Lanndrick was flustered, this time he seemed too stubborn to show it, instead draping his arms over Kork’thal’s shoulders and nuzzling his neck, his chest, sniffing and murmuring and digging his nails into his shoulders.

He sank down and pulled Lanndrick into his lap. Even in human form, a small growl escaped him, and the worgen rocked his hips desperately against him.

And Kork’thal wrapped his arms tight around him, protective and close, nipping his lip and fumbling with the latches of his pants, anxious and needy and desperate to feel the warmth of life re-kindled in the pit of his chest.


End file.
